


Gateways to the Soul

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Albinism, Angst and Humor, Awkward!Dave, Blindness, First Crush, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other hard stuff growing up that no one understands, blind!Sollux
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-04-26
Updated: 2013-11-24
Packaged: 2017-11-04 09:17:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 12,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/392218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave Strider has always hated his eyes. </p><p>Sollux Captor is a strange, quiet alien boy living on the same meteor.</p><p>He's blind, Dave knows he's blind, so why does he feel like Sollux can see right through him...</p><p>(Teen for Swears, as Karkat's in it, and for unhappy descriptions of bullying)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

 

Your name is Dave Strider, and you have always hated your eyes.

 

Albinism runs in the family, you know. Bro would never let you out of the house without a heavy layer of Factor 50, and you still have scars on your forearms from the burns you received on the day you snuck out without telling him.  As you grew up, you became accustomed to the daily Strider ritual of making sure every single inch was covered if there was a chance of harsh sunlight. But you hated the oily sheen it left on your skin that caused even otherwise friendly kids to absentmindedly wipe their hands on their shirts after touching you. They didn’t even notice they did it, but you did. Every time.

 

You dyed your hair, once, sick of all the “old man” comments, when you transferred schools. It was cheap, store-bought stuff, surreptitiously smuggled home in your schoolbag. The lady at the counter had asked if it was for your mother. You’d said yes. But the white roots grew out too fast, and maybe you shouldn’t have picked black to begin with; looking back, you’re glad “Skunk” was the worst nickname they could come up with. When your Bro found you that evening, crying on the bathroom floor, surrounded by clumps of black and white hair, you think that was the day he decided to get involved. You remember him holding you while you sobbed, repeating over and over; “No one does this to a Strider. No one.”

 

Your brother had gotten you up the next day, and told you you’d be homeschooled until college. You’d fought that, hating him for piling on one more reason that you weren’t “normal”. After you’d calmed down, and tried every lock in the house to no avail, he’d explained that he couldn’t risk another “concerned phone call” from the teacher, explaining “maybe he should look into having Dave fostered by someone more... experienced in looking after a child with special needs.” The Strider Brothers were sticking together, and that was it.

 

Your brother wasn’t a bad teacher, all said. But the additional subject on the curriculum always puzzled you, and you still wonder to this day if Bro wasn’t just preparing you for what would come next; not the trials and tribulations of College as a Freak, but the Game. For two hours, every day, you were schooled in various forms of combat. Your younger self thought this was awesome, at the start. But, as you gained skill, impromptu sparring became just as much a part of everyday routine as dinner. Fighting was just something you did.

 

But Bro couldn’t fix everything. You will always remember the day your habitual shades slipped off while grocery shopping, and the crazy old woman who pushed her life around in a stolen shopping cart, as far as the term Life can be applied to things pilfered from peoples bins, had grabbed your face in the middle of the street and screamed. She’d called you possessed, a demon child of Satan, the Antichrist and other quasi-religious indignations before Bro could rescue you from her grubby clutches.  

 

Red eyes; a nice concept for a movie star villain, but not for a kid growing up. Bro dodged that bullet, the lucky bastard. Amber eyes don’t get you branded an abomination. Kids can be cruel. Since that incident, the shades stayed on. And, over time, you made yourself a persona that could withstand the slings and arrows of everyday life; Pale eyebrows helped disguise emotion, shades cloaked the rest. You didn’t touch people, first to avoid the confused and slightly disgusted looks your lotion drenched skin received, later from force of habit. The muscle accrued from years of training turned your gangling clumsy body into something totally under your own control. You finally returned to school, and your old reputation as an outcast melted away under your new persona of the cold and distantly aloof Cool Kid. Beating the living hell out of anyone who dared call you any of your old nicknames helped, too.

 

It was easier to make friends online. That removed the physical barriers. But even Egbert has never seen your eyes, not this whole time. He keeps asking, and you’d probably acquiesce if winding the dork up wasn’t so amusing. At least you’ll get a break now, stuck on this flying rock for three years, and Lalonde knows that there’s at least one line her psychoanalysis shenani-babble should respect.

 

The Trolls are pretty chill, all things considered. Apparently some serious shit went down before you and Rose arrived, but whatever it was seems to have blown over. You’ve been spending quite a bit of time with Terezi and the weird carapaced creature who never speaks, so you just call him the Mayor. The Cantown thing was his idea, in a way you can’t define, and it’s been nice to partake in an activity that doesn’t involve mortal peril. But Terezi keeps attempting to surreptitiously lick you, and that isn’t something you’re cool with, even ironically. She’s very... physical, a fan of surprise hugs, and when you politely tell her you have personal space issues she just laughs. The girl can _cackle._ Lalonde isn’t as much of a refuge as you’d like, since she spends all her time with Kanaya, and if it’s one thing a Strider doesn’t do, it’s play third wheel to inter-species sloppy lesbian makeouts.

 

You excuse yourself from renovating the less salubrious Tinned Tomato District and retreated to the common room to acquire some of the filthy black sludge that passes for coffee on this gogforsaken meteor. Seriously, why is that machine even there? As you expected, Rose and Kanaya are huddled over a book. Rose keeps telling you it’s serious business, but you figure you’ve still got just under three years of nothing to do but hurry up and wait.

 

But there’s someone else at the machine, and for a moment you raise your eyebrows in surprise. The long limbed form isn’t totally unfamiliar, but you see Sollux Captor so rarely you’d half forgotten he was even on the same floating rock. You briefly wonder exactly where it is he goes, but he turns around with a strange kind of awkward grace, and you swear for just a second those bizarrely bifurcated, blind eyes fix on yours, seeing past the tinted glass that shields your hated irises from the world, and the sensation sends an unfamiliar feeling of vulnerability shuddering across your chest. No, not unfamiliar, make that forgotten; long forgotten and covered in dust, but one you once knew too well. But the feeling flees and is replaced by the crackle of psionics dancing across your skin as Sollux sends out a small blast to check his path for obstructions. He tilts his head in light surprise, and smiles shyly. You can see the tips of his broken fangs where Karkat apparently dropped him on his face.  
“Who’s that? Sorry, didn’t hear you come over.” You gulp, and you just _know_ your cheeks are beginning to resemble your stupid Knight of Time Pyjamas. That wave of forgotten emotion put you off balance, but a Strider is cool in any situation. You’re just glad the guy _can’t_ see you, even though being happy about a persons visual handicaps is not cool, even ironically. You cough, cursing yourself, and reply.  
“It’s Dave. Can’t you tell by my irresistible eau d’awsome?” Okay, not bad, but not great, as witty lines go. Eau d’awsome could do with some work. But Sollux chuckles, and once again his eyes lock on yours, and here comes that tightness in your chest that comes from feeling exposed. Get a grip, Strider. He _can’t_ see your eyes. That’s what being blind _means.  
_ “Of course, so sorry not to have noticed.” _You_ notice Sollux seems a little surprised by his new found proficiency with syllabant sounds. Lisping was luckily not something you were cursed with. If you had been, you might as well have just given up, God clearly wouldn’t have wanted you surviving. You wonder if he’d had to deal with people mocking him, growing up. By all accounts, Sollux was a pretty distant guy, when he was fully alive, or whatever. You don’t really understand or care about the half ghost crap Kanaya warned you to be tactful about. A vampire (well, close enough)  lecturing a God of Time about how to talk to someone who’s half dead... down that path, Madness doesn’t lie, Madness is doing rainbow spewing acrobatic fucking pirouettes merrily over the poppy fields with its middle fingers up at logic.

You realise Sollux had just said something that sounded like a quip about the awful coffee obscuring all scent, and you venture a small laugh. This seems to have worked, and he steps sideways so you can get to the machine. You respond with a polite and noncommittal grunt of thanks, and you feel the light touch of psionics again as he begins to walk away.

 

Your name is Dave Strider, and you certainly did not just burn your fingers on the coffee machine because you were too busy watching the strange, quiet alien boy who logically _can’t_ see you like you felt he could, walk away without a backwards glance...

 

...of course he didn’t give you a backwards glance. That would be stupid. Arrg.

 

Your name is Dave Strider, and you are feeling rather confused.


	2. ~ Interlude ~

_Sweeps ago, but not many._

Your name is Sollux Captor, and you hate everything about yourself.

 

You hate your stupid teeth that jut out awkwardly. You hate your hair and how it sticks up at gravity defying angles and grows too fast (but you don’t hate it much, because fashion is stupid). You hate how your voice sounds, faltering and tense, scanning any spoken phrase carefully before letting it leave your lips in case it will turn you into a lisping idiot. You _really_ hate your speech impediment, and how no one ever takes you seriously when you’re trying to make a point.

 

You hate it that even KK calls you Thollockth.

 

Most of all, you hate your eyes. You’ve always hated your eyes.

 

Your psiionics are an unwelcome gift, and they come at more of a price than you’d have been willing to pay, had you had any say in it. They rely on balance. Total, perfect balance. And it’s not a case of “disregard balance, loose powers”, more than “disregard balance, loose _head_ ”. You are a walking, talking (barely) time bomb, and no one told you when the timer was set or how long until it blows up spectacularly.

 

And every day when you crawl out your recuperacoon and get into your ablution trap, you see reflected in the mirror two glaring, constant reminders of just how much of a freak you are, and how hard it is to deal with. It’s hard, being a bifurcated, psychic landmine. It’s hard and no one understands.

 

Well, maybe one person does. At least, she _doesn’t_ understand in a more reassuring and comforting way than anyone else. And she DOES understand about the Voices.

 

She says she can hear them too.

 

AA is special. She copes with it, with everything, so much better than you could. She keeps telling you that the Voices are just long dead trolls, and that they’re only speaking to you to try and help. You’d like to believe her, but that would mean previous generations were thinkpan-numbingly stupid, or that screaming prophetic doom at a person was an ancient method of relaxation therapy. You feel that your Voices must be different to hers, because there’s no way a generation that retarded could breed.

 

You glance down at the blinking Trollian icon, and sigh. Maybe you were being too hard on the intelligence of the dead, because the current generation has its fair share of grubfucking morons.

 

You are not going to answer the solicitations of AG. There is nothing that egomanic could possibly say that you want to waste your life reading.

 

You’re only online because you’re waiting for AA to get back from her flarping session.

 

She should be done by now, actually.

 

You can feel a headache coming on.

 

Wait... w8...

 

Your n8me is THOLLUKTH FAPTOR, and you are getting sleeeeeeeepy........ ;;;;)


	3. Chapter 3

Time is a construct. You know this.

 

Time is created by humans (alright, and trolls) to slice infinity into comprehensible chunks. Anyone could be the Knight of Time, if they just thought properly.

 

That is why a minute can be different lengths, dependant on the situation. The conversation with Sollux, for example, took around three minutes. Three minutes; and an average human male from a developed country lives 34 164 000 of them. Three minutes is an inordinately small amount of time.

 

But three minutes played over and over _and over_ in a person’s mind, those three minutes can turn into something comparable with the entire history of human existence.

 

Your name is Dave Strider, and you have to do something about this.

 

 _He looked into your eyes and he knew you._ That’s all there is too it. The skinny boy who you’ve barely spoken to, he took one look at you with blind eyes and he knew _everything._ Trying to explain _how_ or _why_ isn’t relevant at this time. He knew about the names you were called growing up. He knew about the time you sprained your wrist trying to suplex Bro when you were eleven.

 

He knew about the time you stopped crying.

 

_“Look at me, little dude. Paying attention? Good. Crying is fine. It’s healthy. But only ever... David Strider, look at my face when I’m talking to you... Only ever cry alone. Crying in front of people shows them the weakness. And what are Striders?”  
“Striders are Strong.”  
“Right. And even when you aren’t feeling strong, when the world has kicked you in the scrotum too many times, and you just want to ball to the universe about just how unfair it is, that’s the time the universe rolls up its sleeves and gets to work on you. That’s the time you have to be strong. Strength when times are good is an oxymoron. Real strength is being tough when times are hard. Understand?”  
“Yes Dirk.”  
“Really?”  
“...Yes.”  
“Good. So stop snivelling about getting beat: Use the pain as a reminder for why you won’t get beat again.”  
“Okay.”  
“Love you, little dude.”  
“Love you, bro.”  
“Good. Now stand up and fight. We still have twenty minutes of Sparring Time left.”_

_  
_

Watching your brother die took around three minutes, too. Three minutes is a _long time._

_  
_

It’s time to talk to Karkat.

 

The boy really was short. A real short, making up for what he lacked in height in barely controlled anger. At least he’s easy to find. You locate the idiot at his usual haunt; glaring angrily at the sky on what Rose calls the Observatory. You think of it as the Top Of The Tower.

  
“Karkat?”  
“Jegus fucking Christ Strider, what the fuck do you want?” In Strider Terms: _Hello, nice to see you.  
_ “I wanted to talk to you about something.”  
“Oh _really?_ I thought you might have come up here to gaze dreamily at my face, whispering sweet nothings to yourself. Oh the long nights I have dreamed about a soft pink alien staring rapturously at...”  
“It’s about Captor.” At least that stops his tirade of insults. He cocks a brow, looking at you like a specimen in a Petri dish.  
“What about him?”  
“Know where he is?”  
“Do I look like his fucking Moirail? Ask Aradia.”  
“Know where _she_ is?”  
“No.” The troll folds his arms over his chest. This guy is such an insufferable prick.   
“Could you guess?”  
“What the fuck do you want with Sollux anyway? Need your husktop fixing? That’s all the fucker is good for.”  
“Yeah, I need my troll equivalent of a laptop servicing, because I clearly have one. Where is he?”  
“I told you, I don’t know! He’s a secretive bastard.” Karkat rubs his eyes, and you remember that the little bastard has his own troubles. Not to mention his psycho juggalo pale-boyfriend, he takes everything head on, even when it doesn’t need addressing. He tries so hard to be a leader, he doesn’t notice no one wants to be led. He pre-emptively charges in, metaphorical guns blazing, without considering there might be a simpler way.

 

Just like you.

 

 _“I can send a Doomed Dave. We don’t have to do this, Rose.”  
“It won’t work, I’ve explained. It has to happen in this reality. A Paradox Clone won’t work in this situation. We’re utilising a loophole in the Game Mechanics as it is. Trust me.”  
“Going God Tier is only a fifty fifty flip. Fuck the Game, fuck its rules. If I only have a half and half chance of dying, I am not going down trying to exploit the system like a cheating crying bitch.”  
“Dave, trust me. Please. I know you’re the real leader; John never wanted to be one, and isn’t qualified. But the most obvious way is _ not _the best in this situation. We have the option of certain death, or a fifty percent chance of certain death. I, for one, am with the numbers at this venture.”  
“Fine. FINE! I trust you, Rose. I just hope you know what you’re doing...”_

_  
_

You are flooded by a surge of unaccustomed fellow feeling, and you sit on your heels next to the permanently raging Cancer. If looks could kill, you’d be a pile of ash under his responding glare.  
“I know we fell out about the Terezi thing. Jesus, man, you can have her. Seriously, the girl is too far gone to even be ironically interesting. Just don’t fuck me about here, okay? Please.” Failing to decimate you into particle atoms from force of glare, Karkat’s brow slowly unknots. He shrugs with forced apathy, and jerks a clawed thumb towards the mostly abandoned complex the trolls utilize as Respite Blocks.  
“In there, probably. He mostly hangs out with Aradia, talking about death and shit. Good luck if you want sense from him.” You pat the troll on his hunched, tense shoulder, and smirk internally at the small hiss of annoyance this rewards you with.  
“Thanks, Vantas.”  
“Die painfully.”  
“You too.” 


	4. Chapter 4

 

You like Aradia. She understands that time is mutable. She’s the only other Hero of Time on this rock, and so she understands what it’s like to feel time as a living, flowing entity. But, like Sollux, you don’t see her often. Pale romance is weird, but you understand. Trolls have such a complex courtship that mediators are required, and a species prone to flipping spectacularly off the deep end really benefits from having someone whose job it is to grab your metaphorical collar and get the bucket of cold water ready. 

 

You walk softly through the abandoned halls of what was once, presumably, some kind of barracks. Long abandoned rooms would sing with memories if you were the sort of person who thought poetically. Rose would have a field day here.

 

You follow shifts in the dust until you can hear soft voices.

 

You look at Aradia. Time seems to take on a garish red theme in the Game, but at least the role of Maid doesn’t leave you with a hood that looks more at home in a Convent. It’s odd, as you have always seen Time utilising two colours; moving through future events always had a blueish tone, while heading backwards was coloured in dull reds.  Aradia smiles up at you from her seat on the edge of an... amalgamation; some sort of pod. The liquid within is purple, but foam around the edges suggest two distinct colours went into its making.

 

“Oh goodness! You move like a ghost.”

 

The way she says it reminds you.

 

 _“New game! Let’s play_ Ghost! _”  
“How do you play?”  
“Well, you pick one person to be the ghost, and everyone ignores them. Because they’re invisible, see?”  
“Yay!”  
“Okay. Dave looks like the ghost, so he is the ghost!”  
“Wai..”  
“Yay!”  
  
_ That game went on for _weeks._

 

You realise Aradia is looking at you, and cough.  
“Sup.” Simple, pure, no room to twist it out of context.  
“Hey Dave. Something wrong?” Sollux’s monochrome eyes are fixed on his knees while Aradia speaks. You get the impression from her voice that your presence in the room, while not unwelcome, has put a halt to some proceedings you aren’t aware of, and hints that, politely as possible, it’d be best for you to say your piece and leave. You wave a hand.  
“Nah. Just want to grill Captor about a tech issue.” Thanks for that idea, Karkat. You feel the pulse of psionics as Sollux discerns your location in the room, and only now you notice little rivulets of yellow on the boy’s cheeks. Nevertheless, Sollux turns his face to your approximate location and smiles his strange, sad smile. Aradia looks like she’s about to speak, but he holds up a thin, long fingered hand.  
“Of course. Is it urgent?” You shake your head, then wince as you realise the gesture is futile.  
“Nah,” you say, “whenever you’ve got a minute’s fine. Sorry for interrupting.”  
“It’s ok. I’ll come up to your Respite Block in an hour or so?”  
“Sounds good.” You back away. The look Aradia is giving you isn’t quite hostile, but you certainly get the impression that it’s time to abscond.

 

Your name is Dave Strider, and you have about an hour to break your computer.

 

This isn’t difficult. You pull up a system file and type a few lines of gibberish into it, and hit save. The screen goes blue and begins flashing the strange Alternian script at you. Simple.

 

What’s less simple is thinking about exactly _what_ it is you want to talk to Sollux about. Why did you lie just then, and now you’re waiting in your room for a blind alien to come up and fix the computer you just broke so you could talk to him about... about what? How do you start a conversation like that? _“Hey, we’ve not spoken much, but I can’t stop thinking about you.”_ Smooth, Strider. Not psychotic at all. The boy will run a mile. And then it hits you. It’s a fact that’s been patiently hammering away on the doors of your mind since yesterday, and has got sick of you pushing it away and has decided enough is enough and hits you right between the eyes in full force.

 

_You like him._

 

“Oh... shit.” You run your fingers under your shades and rub your eyes.  

 

The thing is, you’ve never really liked anyone before. Not in _that_ way. Once upon a time you thought you might have had a crush on Rose, but finding out a girl’s your ectobiological sister can abruptly end that train of thought. And you weren’t really that sad about it. For the longest time, before you were a god and had to save the universe, Jade and Rose were your only female friends. And John you’re only _other_ friend, discounting your brother. Sad, but true.

 

Terezi once asked if a Cool Kid like you got ALL the girls, and of course you said yes, more bitches than there were numbers. But really, no one’s _ever_ thought you were attractive. Stares of fascinated horror, sure, but never of interest.  Then there was Terezi, but to be honest you only played along with that to annoy Vantas. Terezi is nice, but she eats chalks and cackles and the memory of her eyes isn’t what kept you awake most of last night.

 

_Y_ _ou don’t know what to do._

 

How uncool would it be to hide under your desk? 


	5. Chapter 5

_Pulse. Focus. See._

 

The psionic force ripples across the room, and bounces back, painting a picture in your mind with monochrome lines of energy. It’s blurred, and impossible to make out fine detail, but all the basic shapes of solid objects flare lines of white fire against the darkness that used to be your vision.

 

Walls, doors, people. But never details. No colour. No faces.

 

Terezi did try to teach you to see colours like she did, but she had her Lusus and sweeps to learn how to use other senses to replace optic input. And besides, you’re a little wary about putting everything you encounter into your mouth.

 

The twilight pictures created by your returning psionic force are functional enough. You’re getting better at it all the time, starting to even recognise the silhouette created by your Moirail instinctively. The area the two of you chose to be your homes on the meteor are usually deserted, too, so no one but her saw your first few painful days of walking into walls.  The main complex where the humans and most of the other trolls inhabit is often noisy and chaotic, everything moving around too fast for you to get a definite picture of it. And the tunnels under the complex... no one apart from Karkat goes down there. No one wants to run into Gamzee.

 

You pause at a junction of two corridors, and send another pulse flowing away. You realise you have no idea where Dave’s Respite Block is, and frown. You were too preoccupied to ask, before.

 

_“How are you coping with it all, Sol?”  
“It’s weird, AA. It’s like... there’s a big hole in my chest full of air, and every day it’s getting bigger and bigger until I feel like I could float away. Was it... was it like this when you were...”  
“Dead, Sol. I know the word.” You feel her put her hand on yours. Emotions that you felt so keenly when you were fully alive are now only weak shades of their past potency, but the kindness in her voice makes your chest fill with a dull ache. She dealt with this for sweeps.  
“AA, you know I...” A small hand covers your mouth.  
“We’ve been through this, Sollux. You didn’t mean too. It’s okay, it’s okay...”  
That’s Aradia. She’s okay with everything.  
You wish you were as brave as her.  
“The hollowness is normal, you’ll get used to it. Hey, at least you got to keep some emotions, right?”  
“Some, yeah.”  
“And the voices?”  
“I can’t hear them anymore.” A pause, and you hear Aradia stand up. You don’t need your psionics to know she’s approaching you, and you are quickly engulfed in a brief hug.  
“I’m so proud of you, Sollux. We all are. You saved us all.” You are crying now, silently and without passion, for the boy who had to die so the meteor could fly. You feel Aradia move away to sit back on your recuperacoon. She knows better than to try and coddle you, and you know that, in time, you’ll be okay with it. But sometimes the body needs to morn. _

 

 _You’re thinking about what it is to exist like this, half alive, blind, broken. And it’s_ still _better than before, when every emotion was pin sharp and hammered into your brain at the slightest provocation._

 

_Aradia inhales suddenly, and speaks not to you, but to a space near the door.  
“Oh goodness! You move like a ghost.”_

 

You’d noticed that about him the other day. Dave moves silently, as if he didn’t want to draw attention to his presence until he chose to speak. Karkat, on the other hand, walks as is his feet and the ground are not on good terms, every step a grudge unfulfilled. You can hear him now, making his way down the corridor in front of you.   
“Hey, KK.”  
“Why are you swanning around the corridors like a maiden in distress, Captor?” You grin, and shrug lightly.  
“I’m a bit lost. Know where Striders room is?” You can _hear_ the Cancers face crinkle up in contempt.  
“When the fuck did I become head of Meteor Guided Fucking Tours? Have I obtained a jaunty little hat and a badge saying “Hi! My name is Karkat, ask me about the Douchebag Spotting Trail!””  
“I don’t know, nookstain. Have you?”  
“Well it seems like it! Is it so much to ask to be allowed to go about my important leader business without being constantly pestered by insufferable pricks in stupid glasses?”  
“Seems that way. So do you?”  
“Of course. I often creep out in the dead of whatever the fuck we have on this rock instead of daytime and fly on dark wings of passion to the respite block of the Enigmatic Dave Strider, to partake in un-fucking-told rendezvous of licentious desire.”  
“So you don’t.”  
“No.”  
“Great. Thanks.”  
“Any time.” The stomping resumes as Karkat heads off to attend to “important leader business”, presumably. You smile to yourself, and make your way to the common room. Hopefully one of the others will be in there, and of a more helpful disposition than Karkat. Not that that would be a challenge. _Rocks_ naturally have more altruistic tendencies than Karkat.

 

You’re in luck. A sweep of the room shows two figures at one of the tables, and the quiet female voices tell you Rose and Kanaya are in their accustomed place, researching one of the many old tomes located in the complex’s libraries. You notice the proximity of the two girls in relation to each other, and smile. Kanaya always worked so hard to make other peoples relationships flourish. She deserves to be happy.  You cough politely.  
“Ladies?” A gust of perfume tells you one or both of the girls has turned in her seat.  
“Oh, hello Sollux. It is good to see you.” The soothing enunciated tones of Kanaya. You smile in the direction of the perfume.  
“Likewise, kinda. Rose is there too, right?”  
“Yes, I’m here.”  
“Great. Dave asked me to do some computer stuff for him, but I don’t know where his room is.” You raise your hands in a defeated gesture.  
“Well, we’re basically done here. I’ll take you.” Rose says, and Kanaya makes an affirmative noise. A swish of fabric and another wave of perfume, and Rose is at your side. You feel her hesitate for a second, and offer her your elbow. Cool hands take it lightly, and she begins to pilot you out of the room.  
“I’ll return shortly, Kanaya.”  
“Okay.”

 

When you get into the corridor, you automatically send a small inquisitive burst of energy, the maps scribbling themselves behind your eyes. But Rose stops dead when the psionics touch her skin, and shivers.   
“What was that?” You wave your free hand.  
“Don’t worry, just looking around.” Her silence begs a more thorough explanation, and you continue as you walk, “I can... send out the psionic force and read what comes back. It flows around things, stopping at walls and tables and stuff, and I can sort of... see the lines it makes. Stops me walking into things.”  
“Like a visual version of a bats sonar?”  
“I don’t know, what’s a bat?”

 

Rose asked you lots of questions as you made your way to Dave’s room. You got the feeling she found the idea genuinely interesting, but it’s hard to describe to someone without the powers exactly what they feel like. It’s like seeing a new, distinct colour for a short amount of time, then having to describe it back in the seven colour world.

 

You can still remember colours, and see them when you dream, but they are getting fainter all the time in your memory.

 

Rose releases your elbow at the door to one of the compartments.   
“You’ll have to tell me more about this psychic sight of yours sometime, if that’s ok?”  
“Of course. Really, I didn’t think it was that special. I just use it to get around.”  
“It’s fascinating. And now, here is the lion’s den. Enjoy your time with Mr. Strider.” You chuckle, and feel her presence leave your side.

 

You wait until her footsteps have faded away down the corridor, and then knock twice. There’s a whirring noise, and you feel the door slide open.

“'Sup.”   


	6. Chapter 6

He’s so _thin._

 

You watch as Sollux moves carefully around your room to the computer. You don’t presume to lead him, as the guy clearly has some way of knowing where things are, and you have doubts that your palms are going to stop perspiring ay time soon. As he takes his things from his Sylladex, you have time to study him properly.

 

A classic ectomorph. Dark jeans clothe legs that look like they might snap if he so much as catches his shin on a table. He’s taller than you, but has a techheads slouch where too much time in front of a monitor has curved the body. You can see the ridges of his spine through his shirt. Long, graceful pianists hands ending in neatly cut claws begin to set up some equipment you don’t recognise, and don’t really look too closely at because the boy is humming a simple little tune under his breath and your chest tightens as the quiet noise fills your mind until it feels close to bursting.

 

But his eyes.

 

You’ve seen Dead eyes before, in Dream Bubbles. You can’t say you relished the experience.

 

Sollux’s right eye is the same; flat and white, without shine, almost like someone stuck a piece of paper behind the eye socket like a gory post-it. It doesn’t move, and it has no curve to it. The other puts you in mind of a shark’s eye; smooth, shining black filling edge to edge.

 

The thin fingers begin feeling their way around the back of the unit and Sollux leaves one hand there as his other toys with a bundle of wires. Little raised marks around the heads are obviously some sort of Braille, and you realise; how the hell is this guy going to fix your computer if he can’t see the screen?  When Sollux seems happy with the wires, he attaches the other end of the bundle to his modified Husktop. When he opens it you see the keyboard is also coded with raised dots and grooves. He’s only been blind, what, a few months, and he’s learnt Braille? Did trolls even have that? You know Terezi does some weird taste and smell stuff to read her monitor.

 

The Husktop finishes loading, and Sollux taps a few keys. Then the beeping starts, patterns of long and short, low and high beeps, a bit like Morse Code. Sollux taps his fingers on the side of his head in time to the beeping device, then wrinkles his nose.  
“What have you done to this poor computer, Dave?”  
So, he’s devised himself his own laptop and way of reading it, and a method of understanding the data. You are impressed.   
“I guess it couldn’t keep up with a Strider. That’s a sweet rig. Make it yourself?”  
“Yeah. It’d have been better if Equius was still around. Sweaty bastard at least knew about machines. But, well...”  
“Shenanigans.”  
“Exactly.”  Silence falls between the two of you again, the cheerful beeping the only noise in the room. Sollux looks unseeingly at the blank screen. You say nothing. While a guy’s thinking about his dead friends, you figure, is not the best time to put forward any romantic solicitations. Not that you could, even if you wanted to. Your throat is dry; all the moisture must have gone to your hands.

 

No one ever told you crushing on a person would make you feel so _sick._

 

After a while, the beeping subsides. Sollux rubs his brow, and you feel the burst of energy from his eyes as he locates your position in the room. He turns his face to you, the pained expression almost comical.   
“You are a scourge on technology, Dave. This thing is seriously corrupted.” Score one point for random meddling, you think.  
“Can you do anything for her, doc?”  
“I’ll try, but no promises. It’s going to be a tricky operation. I give her fifty fifty on pulling through.” He grins at you, and you feel your heart skip. _This is stupid. You’re acting like some simpering girl from one of Egbert’s dumb movies. Get a grip, Strider.  
_ “Can I get you anything? I’ve got Tab.”  
“Tab’d be great. Got any crackers, by any chance?”  
“Nah. I’m crackalackin’.” He laughs softly, a strange sound coming from such a sad face. You abscond from the room before you can dwell on that thought and pad through to the second room of your apartments. The Tab is lukewarm, as you’ve not found anything resembling a refrigerator on the meteor. You hear the beeping resume in the other room. You look at the cans in your hands, and smile to yourself.

 

 _Bro had a game that he never named, but you internally dubbed “Killer Can”. Sometimes, not every time, when your brother brought you a beverage, he’d shake up a can where you couldn’t see him. He’d then place both cans on the table and wait for you to take one. You always,_ always _picked the shaken one. You don’t know what high grade mind games he pulled to make sure that every time, after you had been drenched by the torrent of resulting soda, he’d smile calmly, lean forward and take the rejected can. The self satisfied little hiss as he popped it open was one of the reasons you switched to apple juice._

 

You reject the impulse to enrage a can, and return to Sollux. He jumps a little at the click it made when you put it down and smiles sheepishly.   
“You move so quietly.”   
“Yeah? So I’ve been told.”  
“Mhm. People say that the blind get better performance from the other senses, but it’s hoofbeastshit.” He says, his voice quiet and level. “You just listen harder when there’s a chance the guy coming up behind you is an insane murderous clown with a big hammer, especially if you’ll never see him coming.” Sollux grins his broken smile, and you can clearly see where his dual canine teeth had snapped. (Where a humans canines would be, anyway.)  
“I’ve not seen Chucklefuck since the day me and Rose joined this happy little troupe of the Grad Guignol Theatre Company. Is he still such a threat?” You say, and Sollux shrugs a shoulder.   
“ He killed our friends.” He speaks with no anger, just a tone of resigned sadness. “I trust KK, as grubfucking insane as that sounds, but I hope he knows what he’s doing. I wouldn’t be that lunatic’s Moirail if you paid me.” Okay, this looks like a good opening.  
“Well, you’ve got the Second Best Hero of Time for all your Pale Quadrant Brouhaha. Sadly, the only thing Aradia’s got over me is that I ain’t a choice babe.” _Choice babe? Did you really just say that?  
_ Sollux blinks, and says “Aradia? Yeah, Aradia’s nice.” _Note the slight wistfulness entering his voice, oh shit.  
_ “Must be pretty sweet, having her all to yourself in your wonderfully romantic abandoned military bunker.” _Stop talking, Dave. Stop it right now._  
“Uh...” Sollux raises an eyebrow. “Are you angling for a date or something?” _Abandon ship, man the lifeboats. Abscond, ABSCOND.  
_ “What? No, of course not.” HIT HIM OVER THE HEAD AND RUN WHILE HE’S UNCONSCIOUS.   
“Only, I don’t think she’s...” _SHE! Okay Strider, all hope has not floundered, you can save this.  
_ “I was just complementing a bro on his sweet set up, jegus.” _Is he smiling? He’s smiling. Oh thank fuck.  
_ “It’s not like that, really,” Sollux laughs lightly, “we’re too close now for anything Redder to feel... right, I guess. Once, maybe. Not now.” _He lives in seclusion with a girl he’s TOO CLOSE TO consider... and he_ doesn’t _? Is there actually something wrong with his brain?  
_ “ ‘s cool, man. Kinda like me and Jade, or something.” _Dave Strider, stop talking about ANYONE who could be considered a potential partner to the boy you are failing miserably at trying to woo!!  
_ “Yeah, I guess.” Sollux takes a swig of the Tab. “Right, I think I know what the problem is. I’ll get some codes written up and get ‘em to you tomorrow?” _He’s going. You blew it. Good job, kid.  
_ “Sure.” You try to keep the disappointment out of your voice and watch him disconnect his Husktop. His hand hovers over the control panel for the door a second, and he half turns to face you.  
“Uh, this is going to sound weird.” _Why didn’t you hide under your desk when you had the chance?  
_ “Bro, I’m a flying Knight who lives on a meteor with a bunch of aliens. I’m pretty well acquainted with Weird. We’re thinking of flatsharing when this is all over.”  
“You make a good point. Well... wanna hang out when I’ve got your rig back on track?” He smiles, and rubs the back of his head, “Only, I don’t know... Aradia only ever wants to talk about death and feelings, and Karkat is the most insufferable prick I’ve ever met, and he always seems to be busy. You’re the most normal guy here. I kinda miss just talking about stuff and... I don’t know, chilling out. Playing video games. That sort of thing.” He takes a deep breath in through his nose, holds it, and lets it out as a laugh. “Yep, that did sound weird.”  
“ Sure did.” _Not, it sounded wonderful._ “It’s a date.” _Why did you SAY that?_ But Sollux just grins at you, looking relived.  
“Great. I’ll come over after lunch, or something?”  
“Alrighty. See you then, Captor.” He nods and raises a hand in an awkward wave.  
“See you then.”

 

He’d been gone for five minutes before you realised, of all the stupid things that had left your mouth that evening, _see you_ was probably the worst of all.

 

...fuck.

 

The clunk of your head colliding with your desk is the only sound in the room for some time after that.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates are going to be a little sparse, as it is Exam Time (duhn duhn DUHN.) Do bear with me ^-^;;;

 

Lunchtime. An odd concept on a rock hurtling through space with no discernible day or night. There are clocks around that mark the time, and everyone conforms to the cycle mostly out of habit. 

 

Your stomach feels too jittery to eat, but you keep your composure. You’re good at that; the art of keeping your face carefully blank and speaking meticulously even when your brain is screaming at you. Besides, it’s Kanaya’s turn to cook for you all, and she’s pretty good.

 

Meal sharing with an alien species is strange.

 

Since the trolls were the first to inhabit the meteor, everything is set up for Alternian cuisine. Which seems to be, not to put too fine a point on it, bugs. Sure, some of the bugs look and taste like things you are familiar with, but just in the same way trolls look like humans. Basically similar, but still insectioid enough for Rose to have fainted after the first week of carefully hiding most of hers and collapsing from hunger. While neither of you can actually die from anything that is not a Just or Noble cause, your stomachs make it quite clear they are not to be forgotten.

 

Kanaya, at least, makes an effort to create plates of food that not only disguise the nature of the ingredients, but also conform to her nature of a true obsessive aesthete.  

 

As you push your (thankfully) unidentifiable meal around your plate, you realise you’ve never seen Sollux eat with the rest of you. Aradia sometimes joins you, or at least flutters in and grabs some before returning to whatever she was doing.

 

“You look pensive, Dave. Is there something wrong with your lunch?” Kanaya asks carefully, loaded fork still held elegantly in hand. You shake your head and force a mouthful before answering.  
“It’s great, Kan.” You say, “It’d have Heston Blumenthal crying into his breast milk and asparagus omelette.”  She smiles, confused at the content of the compliment, but apparently satisfied.

 

You make an effort to finish, knowing Kanaya is watching now. Seriously, that girl is the troll equivalent of a mother who makes sure you’ve eaten every vegetable before you get your ice cream.

 

After you’ve cleaned your plate, you excuse yourself from the post meal banter and retreat to your room. After pacing aimlessly for a minute or two, you turn on your sound system and skip restlessly through songs until there’s a knock at your door. You jump up, but force yourself not to run to open it.

 

You take a deep breath, and press the door release.

 

“Hello Dave. Can I come in?” _Oh god damn it. It’s Rose._

 

Rose doesn’t wait for a response and sweeps into your room. She perches on the edge of your sofa and adjusts her skirt.  
“Kanaya and I have discovered something that you might be interested in. It’s to do with...” You hold up a hand.  
“Rose, listen, I’m sure your insights are to rival Newton’s Apple and all, but I’m kinda busy.” She raises a thin eyebrow.  
“You don’t look that busy.”She fixes you with her best, blankest psychologist look. “What is so important you can’t listen to me for...” You run your hands through your hair and groan.  
“Okay, okay. Fine. Shoot.”  
“Good. Well...” There is a soft knock at the door, and she stops. A slow, malicious smile, akin to those that greet drowning swimmers, spreads across her face. “Company?”  
  


You don’t make eye contact as you stride over to the door panel. Sollux smiles at a point just above your head; he’s holding his Husktop to his slender chest.  
“Hey, Dave.” You can _feel_ Roses eyes on the back of your neck.  
“Sup. Come in.”

You turn, and take in Roses sardonic smile. She waggles her eyebrows in what you feel to be a disgustingly knowing way, and clears her throat. Sollux starts.  
“Hello?”  
“It’s just me, Sollux.” She gives you an overly exaggerated wink, enjoying your discomfort. “I was just leaving. Do have fun, boys.”

 

After she had sauntered out, and you had firmly shut the door on her grinning face, you turn back to your visitor who is standing meekly in the middle of your floor. You walk softly towards him and place a hand on his shoulder.  
“Oka-” You are cut off by a startled blast of psionics, then Sollux smiles meekly.  
“Sorry.” You shake your stinging fingers, cursing internally.  
“’s fine. What did you wanna do?” Sollux coughs and you can see roses of yellow blooming on his pronounced cheekbones.  
“Well, I’ll set up the debug on your station, then... uh.” He looks up into your eyes, and you feel the sensation you experienced the other day at the coffee machine, like falling backwards. _Damn,_ you muse, _you got it bad, son._ “Well, do you like video games?” You chuckle, and see the flush grow across his cheeks.  
“Yeah, it’s having a hyper-competitive brother; video games are a legit way of settling differences that doesn’t involve a trip to the emergency room.” He breaths out, relief radiating off of him.  
“Okay. Aradia doesn’t play, and Karkat always rage quits the first time he’s beat.” He begins fussing with your computere, setting up wires by feel. You settle yourself on the sofa, watching his gaunt frame behind your glasses.

 

He doesn’t sit down straight away, but moves to the T.V. He carefully walks his hands to the back of the box, and you notice the confident delicacy he exudes; such a contrast to the over-careful way he moves normally, as if he’s afraid to inadvertently touch anyone.  He removes the wires that hook up your DVD player, and pulls a strange, insectoid device out of his Sylladex.

 

 _You can see his shoulder blades through his shirt.  
_ Shut up, brain.

 

After everything is set up, he retreats to the sofa, moving his hand carefully in front of him to judge where the seat is. When he _does_ sit down, you feel his hip brush against yours. He mumbles apologetically, and shuffles over, handing you what you assume to be a controller. It’s rather more... chitinous than you’re used to, but there are obvious buttons and analog sticks. Alternian text flashes across the screen, shortly replaced with a selection of character portraits. You smile.

 

_“Dave, this is Soul Calibur. The ultimate test of reflexes, memory and endurance. You will make a character. You will learn their moves. You will eat, sleep and breathe button combos. Do not disappoint me.”  
Your ‘Hella Jeff’ could beat ‘Sweet Bro’ one in five. _

 

You flick your selection over various angry looking trolls, meaningless Alternian statistics blinking at you. Sollux seems to have zoned in on a character somewhere in the middle; a stern looking troll with a blindfold and bared fangs. After you pick at random, and the characters have done their traditional grunts and shouts of on-selection that seems to be consistent across all game playing species, Sollux chuckles in the back of his throat.  
“Dionys, eh?” You make a non-committal noise, not being able to read the strange angular  letters.  
“Could be. It’s a greenish looking chica with big eyes and clashing colours. I picked at random.” Sollux nods.  
“She’s really fast and hits like a truck, but takes hits badly. Well, unless you get her Overcharged. Then she hits for nothing but has the highest defence. She used to be my favourite character, actually.” You feel your chest tighten a little, but respond in measured tones.  
“Okay, so what’s your guy like?” Sollux smiles, and it’s a genuine smile of enjoyment, scorn of any underlying meaning.  
“Mnemos. He... well, the back story was that he lost his memory, so lost all of his skills. He’s the hardest to play and the weakest character, but if you progress his plotline he gets boss.”  
“Let me guess; you got him 100% unlocked?”  
“Dave, you’re playing against a blind guy. Let me have a little leniency.” He grins his broken smile at you.  
“Okay, okay. Just don’t expect me to go easy. Which buttons are which?” After a brief explanation, and a request not to back up too far as that’s the hardest thing for Sollux to judge, you 3 2 1 FIGHT!

 

 

He beats you. _Every time_.


	8. Chapter 8

 

 

It’s unbearable, falling for a ghost.

 

Over the next few days you don’t see Sollux. A casual inquiry to Karkat about his whereabouts is quickly curtailed when the little trolls expression verges on out-right aggression, and you quickly abscond in case he actually turns feral and goes for the face. You log into the integrated troll/human chat client much more regularly (Sollux’s code fixed your sabotaged computer), but to your frustration he doesn’t log on. This gives Rose all the more opportunity to bother you about her Serious Business, and you ignore her as much as politely possible.  You have more important things to worry about.

Unsurprisingly, your thoughts turn to exactly what it is you might have done to make him avoid you. You run the conversations had in the few hours he visited your room over and over in your head, scanning them for any sign; the exact moment he decided you weren’t worth spending time with.  
  


You’re good at spotting revulsion; you’ve had a lot of practice in seeing it.

 

A discussion about how much you both hated game review magazines, but still bought them (the boy has a good basic foundation in the Art of Irony); a unanimous vote passing the notion that Karkat Vantas is the single most irritating entity in this or any other universe; another undisputed notion that Karkat’s cooking would be noticeably improved if the troll chugged a bottle of every flavour of Faygo and threw up into a big bowl, then served it; friendly gamer banter, such as “You won, so what? I fucked your mom/lusus/sister/moirail.” All normal stuff.

 

You thought it had gone well.

 

You are wallowing in this frame of mind when you notice your chat icon blinking at you. You knock over your can of tab in your haste to open it, a Sweet Catch fortuitously stopping the fizzy liquid drenching your keyboard.

 

It’s not Sollux, but Aradia. This is novel enough to dispel your brooding, and you bring up the log.

 

**apocalypseArisen [AA] began pestertrolling turntechGodhead [TG]**

**AA: dave! are y0u there? i have t0 talk t0 y0u.**

Uh oh. You’ve seen enough of Egbert’s awful films to know that when a woman wants to “talk to you”, you’re in trouble.  

**TG: sup  
AA: 0h g00d, y0u’re there. i wanted t0 talk t0 y0u ab0ut s0llux**

This can’t be good. In what way could this possibly be good? He’s asked his moirail to let you down gently.

**TG: not seen him lately. whats up?  
AA: n0thing, n0w. he had a bit 0f an epis0de and g0t sick.  
TG: episode?  
AA: it happens s0metimes. he st0ps eating 0r talking. kinda scary! but like i said, he’s back t0 n0rmal n0w.  
AA: 0u0  
TG: wait hold on what? **

Seriously, what?

**TG: is he ok? why did he have an “episode”?  
AA: i d0n’t kn0w, i was h0ping y0u might have an idea  
TG: why me?  
AA: well y0u saw him the evening bef0re it started. did he say anything t0 y0u?  
TG: anything that might have implied he’d stop functioning?  
AA: yes  
TG: no!  
AA: 0k, just asking. he has a message f0r you, by the way **

This is the let down. It has to be the let down.

**AA: he says s0rry f0r disappearing 0n y0u like this, and w0uld y0u like to hang 0ut again**

...ohthankyousweetfuckingjegusiacceptyouasmylordandsavior!

**TG: sure  
AA: great, i’ll tell him. he’s still kind 0f weak right n0w, but he’ll c0ntact y0u sh0rtly, i’m sure. it’s keeping him away from his c0mputer f0r five wh0le minutes that’s hard.  
TG: ok  
AA: 0k! take care! 0u0**

**apocalypseArisen [AA] ceased pestertrolling turntechGodhead [TG]**

 

Your name is Dave Strider, and you currently have your fingers stuffed in your mouth to muffle the noise of excited, triumphant terror issuing from your vocal chords.


	9. Chapter 9

 

 

Your name is Sollux Captor, and you feel _awful._

 

When you woke up from your most recent “episode” there was a tiny part of you that felt relived. The rest of you was shaking with hunger and stiff from inaction.

 

They were always present in your life; dark patches in your memory when your think-pan had to work intensely on a problem and shut down all non-important operations, like eating or sleeping or talking. You’d come to with the answer spinning in your head with perfect clarity, and often on your back in the middle of your Hive. KK and AA knew that if you were absent from Trollian for more than a few days it was time to make the trek over to your Hive and roll your barely conscious body somewhere warm and feed you small morsels until you regained some of your senses. And after AA... died, there was just KK to look after you. To give him his due, he did so unflinchingly, and with such devotion that more than once you greeted him, fully sentient, at your door when you had been working on a project and just forgot to check in with him.

 

You’d not had an episode since you piloted the meteor. That’s why you feel the smallest bit of relief; it’s another part of you that you have not lost to death. A annoying, dangerous part, but some of your best insights- a particularly genius piece of programming, a new approach to a logistical puzzle- you had discovered the answer shining in front of your eyes for the first few blessed seconds in which you regained consciousness, before your body started haranguing you about the importance of eating and such.

 

This time the answer was two words. But it was harder to comprehend than the question.

 

Luckily, Aradia had found you shortly after the blackout started, so you’re not in too bad a condition, but have a few bruises from where you hit the floor. She had swatted you away from your husktop, which was infuriating, and made you eat some soup. Then she had bundled you into your new Recuperacoon with a promise that you would rest, and she would let people know what had happened. The other trolls would understand, but you slept restlessly worrying what the humans would think of you. One human, anyway.

 

Two words: “Tell him.”

 

But how? How are you supposed to deal with a situation like that? For the first time in your life, you wish you had paid more attention to Karkat’s shitty movies; they’re _full_ of stuff like this.

 

How, exactly, do you tell someone that? What was the logical protocol?

 

“Hey, uh, just thought I should tell you that I’m... well... the thing is...”

 

Ugh.

 

How can you tell him?

 

As is often the case, it is perfectly legitimate to blame Karkat at this point. If that douchebag hadn’t made such a fuss about trolling the humans to begin with, you wouldn’t have so adamantly refused to participate. And if you _had_ participated, you wouldn’t have had to sneak looks at all the human’s Timelines in secret.

 

Of all the humans, in all the realities, it had to be Dave Strider.

 

You’d watched him with curious resentment, as you had all the humans at the start. But John was too immature to sustain your interest, Jade to optimistic, Rose too convoluted... Something about Dave’s collected calm and certain poise made you first envious, and then fascinated. He was everything you wished you could be; confident in any situation, in perfect control of his emotions, balanced psychologically... you resented the pale alien boy for embodying everything you couldn’t be.  You hadn’t realised the price he had paid for his emotional detachment until you had finally caved in and flicked back to a random point in his Timeline.

 

Trolls may have been a violent, tyrannical race, but they never pretended that the hatred and abuse of your fellows was anything apart from that. Trolls never claimed to be a species concerned with being nice; “humane” was a purely human term. If a troll wanted another troll dead, they would kill them outright, not slowly over the course of months and years, like humans did. You had watched with fascinated horror as children, _children,_ drove Dave Strider into a state of such utter despair that the only option left for him was to disengage himself from feeling anything at all. Children returned home at the end of a full day of precise, intentional mental torture to families who told them bed time stories, called them “sweetheart”, organised parties with colourful paper plates for their birthdays and _completely ignored_ the scouring of the soul of a fellow human being that their offspring had committed _on a daily basis_.

 

Dave Strider had survived it.

 

Dave Strider had conquered emotions, dispatching the internal torturer present in the minds of all sentient species.

 

Dave Strider had not cried when he found the corpse of his guardian.

 

_And he had fascinated you._

 

How do you tell someone _that you’ve just met_ that you know them; know about their pain and their sacrifice and their triumphs. How do you describe to someone who barely knows your name just how much admiration you feel for them?

 

How do you justify, to a boy who long ago did away with emotions, justify telling him that... you feel more than just admiration? Was that fair? Was that even remotely sensible?

 

He’s probably forgotten all about you, now. Your mind grasps at the one sliver of hope that first prompted you to carefully consider you might have a chance; but curled up in your Recuperacoon it feels a pathetically small and stupid reason for hope.

 

You mean, he could have just accidentally edited the system file of his computer – the technology was different to what he was used to. And the fact that the registered time stamp of the malfunction had occurred _after_ he’d come to see you about fixing it was probably corrupted data.

 

Why would someone as strong and brave as Dave Strider be interested in a half-dead, blind, pathetic excuse for a person like you? The idea would be laughable, if it didn’t make your insides feel like lead.

 

There is a gentle tap at your Recupaeracoon. You surface, wiping slime from your eyes, to see Aradia smiling down at you.

 

“I talked to Dave for you!” She beams. You’re reactions are still too fuzzy to execute a facepalm- Among the sterling qualities AA possessed, tact was not one of them.   
“Thanks AA. What did he say?”   
“That hanging out again would be nice.” Your heart judders in your chest as she burbles on. “I’m really glad you’re making friends with the humans, Sol! It’s a really positive thing!” You nod, dumbfounded at this unexpected turn of events. As she excuses herself from your room, you slide back into the embrace of sorpor.

 

Your name is Sollux Captor, and this is the best sleep you’ve ever had.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the slow progress, but this fic is still alive! Exams and all are taking their toll, but nothing will stop my love for this pairing.
> 
> Some of you may notice a quote in this that is directly leached from the esteemed Sir Terry Pratchett. For that, all the credit is his.

 

 

You skip lunch; there is no way you’re going to be able to eat Karkat’s cooking when you already feel like you want to throw up.

 

It’s an awful thing to think, but you were _glad_ to discover that Sollux’d had a mental break-down. It means he doesn’t hate you. But the way Aradia had explained it, the guy got it often. That was... frightening. Your main, selfish concern would be if he got ill around _you_ , and you’d have no idea how to deal with it; not being able to find someone who could, watching helplessly as things get worse and worse...

 

The idea of someone dying in your arms seems much less cheesy-Hollywood when it’s happened to you.

 

_“Dirk, just- just hold on, let me see if I can...”  
“I’m... done, little dude... game over...” His eyes screw up in pain, and then he laughs sardonically through his teeth. He looks up at you as you kneel over him, and manages to raise an eyebrow.  
“You’re not... crying... are you?” You shake your head, knowing it is taking every ounce of your strength not to break down.  
“Good. Don’t... cry, Dave. Striders... don’t cry. ‘cos what are Striders?”  
“Striders are Strong.” You whisper, every word barbed and lodged in your gut, tearing at your carefully built composure, the shreds of your cool burning away; as if they mean anything, now; as if they ever did.  
“Damn right.” He takes a laboured breath. “Don’t give up now, kid... you were just starting... to get good...” You can’t answer him. _

 

_There is only the sound of your brother’s painful breathing. And then... nothing at all._

 

You shake your head to dislodge those thoughts as you feel your eyes burn behind your shades. No time for that, now. Never any time for that.

 

You cast your eyes to the new console sitting on top of your television. Thank god you’d got Jade to copy her Pictionary Modus for you – combined with the Alchemiter, Totem Lathe and Punch Designix Equius had apparently found in an abandoned room of the meteor and fixed up before he died, and the remaining Grist left over in your hoard, you can synthesize quite a lot. You’d be the last to deny your art skills, but getting the card to register a popular earth gaming console was slightly difficult. Your first few attempts seemed to yield some kind of beehive themed monstrosity which sat in the corner and oozed a bit before you threw it out of the window.

 

Just because the bastard was blind was no reason not to play the rematch out on _your_ terms.

 

As promised, Sollux arrives after what would be classed as Lunchtime; pale as far as you can tell by troll standards, but smiling. There are bruises along his left arm, you notice acutely as he pads across the room to the sofa, probably from when he hit the deck during his “episode”. It’s not something you really want to address; your stomach twists up in knots just thinking about how to bring it up. Luckily, you suppose,  Sollux does it for you.

 

“I suppose AA told you about... stuff.” He rubs the back of his head; a nervous twitch?   
“Yeah.” You try to sound casual, but can hear the telltale rising in pitch of your voice, “I mean, I know I’m overwhelming and all, but if you’re going to swoon at my absence...”  He laughs, thankfully.   
“I’m sorry, I’m sure.” His careful enunciation of sibilants sends shivers along your spine.   
“Yeah, well, you ok? I was worried there, for a second.” A second, a day, forever...  
“Mhm. It’s a troll thing – gutterbloods like me aren’t supposed to get all the snazzy powers.” His voice is soft and quiet, devoid of anger. “Nature balances it out with grubfucking annoying little quirks like that.”He shrugs, shoulder blades causing sharp creases in his shirt. Not for the first time, you feel a little voyeuristic; appreciating the fluidity of Sollux’s movements, the creases in his face when he smiles... You shake yourself internally.  
“Well, you up for a little gaming?” The pensiveness drops from his shoulders, you guess from the shift into an easy topic. Before he can open up his Sylladex, though, you place a hand on the perceptively warm flesh of his forearm.

 

 _“Trolls of the lower blood types within the Haemospectrum”_ Kanaya’s clipped, scholarly voice intones from a neglected corner of your mind, “ _have a increased body temperature than that of the higher blooded members of our species. This might be due to, or the cause of, the shorter lifespan associated with the members of the lower spectrums. For example, Aradia’s caste would not be expected to live for more than 60 of your human years, thus make perfect disposable shock troops; whereas Tyrian, the chosen Empresses such as Feferi, live more or less indefinitely, only dying due to violence of an enemy attack or the actions of a new Heiress.”_

 

He blinks at your touch, and you try to stop the tremor caused in your voice from the sensation of inhumanly warm flesh.  
“Naw, I learnt my lessons last time – Ain’t no way I’ma beatya on y’own platform...” Gog-fucking-damnit, your Texan drawl creeps in whenever you’re nervous. You take a deep breath. “This time, it’s on my turf.” He smiles at you; monochrome eyes fixed on your scarlet, jagged and broken fangs creating a smile far more beautiful than any American-straight and whitened.   
“It’s on, Strider.” Again, his delicacy around the first letter of your last name makes your stomach tighten.

 

You flick the TV on, the games consol already running. You chuck the player two controller with feigned carelessness onto Sollux’s lap, and only realise that he’s frowning and running his thin fingers over it in puzzlement after you’ve selected your character.   
“S’up?” He chuckles, embarrassed.  
“You’re gonna have to tell me which buttons do what...” The flood of heat rising to your face is unbearable. How the hell could you forget...

 

   _“Don’t give up now, kid... you were just starting... to get good...”_

 

You force a laugh, fighting the impulse to throw up. You mumble an apology, and reach over, your mind too thickly misted with embarrassment to realise what you’re doing, before you realise that your hands are on his, heat sinking through your fingertips. He doesn’t pull away, but a stillness comes over him that you’ve not witnessed before. You press on, placing your fingertips around his right thumb and guiding it to the bottom button of the controller.  
“This,” you speak quietly in an attempt to suppress the rising anxiety in your voice, “is attack...” Your face is close to his; you can feel the heat radiating from his razor sharp cheekbones. He nods very slightly, causing his hair to brush against your brow, a sensation that sends your pulse humming through your body. Your fingers guide his thumb slowly up and left. “Block...” Another nod, and you are sure that, by now, the enigmatic alien can hear your heart beating against your ribcage. Up, right... “Counter.” Nod. Is he moving closer to you? Down, right. “Special...”

 

Under your fingertips you can feel the thrum of his heartbeat, matching yours. Slowly, like the movement of continents, Sollux turns his face towards you. His strange, beautiful eyes lock on yours; lashes surprisingly thick for a boy, lightly hooded but with heavy dark circles. The paper white of his “dead” eye contrasts so starkly with the deep, endless black of his blind eye that you feel giddy, like you are standing over the edge of a sheer drop into darkness.

 

“Thank you.” He almost whispers the words, and the slight breathiness to his voice surrounds you in a haze of pins and needles prickling at your skin.   
“Don’t mention it.” You breathe in return, not daring to speak any louder in case the boy pulls away.

 

Is his face moving towards yours, or is it a trick caused by your brain that wants it so desperately to be true...?

 

  _Whirrrrr. CLANK._

 

“Dave, you were not at lunch so I brought you some refreshments... Oh, I am _so_ sorry.” Kanaya stands at your door, a laden tray in hands. You and Sollux pull away from each other, so fast that the controller he was holding somersaults to the floor. Through the pink fog of embarrassment you barely register that the fall has caused the game to switch to play, and the repetitive fight music throbs in the back of your mind as you stare at Kanaya’s inexpert but heroically attempted neutral face. Sollux’s hand flies to the back of his head, _defiantly_ a nervous impulse. You rearrange your face from absolute terror to (you hope) a chilly blank. Sollux sits rigid, back ramrod straight against the sofa.   
“Cheers Kan.” You realise how hoarse your voice sounds, but push on; “Can’t tempt you to a round of Soul Calibur?” She smiles with her mouth only, yellow eyes carefully set somewhere between exaltation and amusement.   
“Oh, no, thank you for the offer, Dave. I did not know you had company.” She glides over to the coffee table and places her tray down delicately -  nachos, a jug of lemonade, and a rose in a vase that makes the tray definitively Kanaya; there are even napkins folded carefully on one side. “I’ll leave this here?” The delicate question mark frames the sentence like lace edging.  
“Yeah, sure, thanks Kan.” You mumble, knowing your face is an incredibly uncool shade of crimson. She smiles sweetly, and _was that a wink? Did Kanaya just wink at you?_ She turns towards the door and drifts out with her characteristic elegance.

 

You sit silently for a moment. The pink fog of embarrassment seems to spread between you and the alien with such ferocity that Coleridge would be sharpening his quill right then and there if he was present. You clear your throat. Sollux clears his.

 

The sun dropped out of the sky, giant lizards took over the world, the stars exploded and went out and all hope vanished with a gurgle into the sink-trap of oblivion, and gas filled the firmament and combusted and behold there was a new heaven, one careful owner, and a new world, and lo, and possibly verily, life crawled out of the sea, or possibly didn’t because it had been made by the gods - that was really up to the bystander - and lizards turned into less scaly lizards, or possibly did not, and lizards turned into birds, and worms turned into butterflies, and a species of apple turned into bananas, and possibly a kind of monkey fell out of a tree and realized that life was better when you didn’t have to spend your time hanging on to something, and in only a few million years, evolved games consoles and sofas and repetitive midis and there, reincarnated, sat Dave Strider.

 

Finally, Sollux let a slow, self-conscious smile crawl across his face.

 

“You know...”

“Mm?” You don’t think your sudden baptism of fiery embarrassment has left you able to deal with words yet.

“I don’t think Kanaya thought you wouldn’t have company.” His tones are solemn, deliberately so.

“Oh? And why’s that?”

“Because...” Another pulse of psionics emerges from his eyes, and you only realise now that he had sent one out during the reconstruction of the universe. “Because... there are two glasses on that tray.”

You stare at the tray, blankly.

 

The laughter that emerges simultaneously from your mouths is shorn of all pretence, pure and unadulterated. 


	11. Place Marker

It's been a long time since I stopped writing this, purely due to lack of time. However, re-reading it reminded me how much I enjoyed it. 

 

Watch this space.


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